bakerstreet | The Domestic Meme

The Domestic Meme

RULES!
❧ Leave a comment with your character's name, fandom, and any preferences you have.
❧ When replying, RNG for a number between 1 and 15. The number corresponds to the scenario that you will play out in whatever way you want to.
❧ Go from there!

THE LIST!
01] baby
Suddenly, there's a new addition to your family! Are you expecting? Adopting? Struggling to find the perfect name for your child? Or maybe you're up at a ridiculous hour in the morning because they're crying like crazy.

02] just married
Congratulations! You and your loved (?) one are about to start a whole new life together! It's time for the honeymoon...

03] house hunting
Are you seeking out an apartment? A dream house? Or just any old place, as long as you're with your other? Make sure to weigh your options very carefully...

04] household chores
It's time to clean/cook/garden/take care of something! Do you work together, or does one of you hide until everything is done?

05] shopping
Whether it's for furniture, groceries, or something in between, shopping is something that everybody must do at some point in time! What varies is if they like it or not.

06] family vacation
WE'RE OFF TO DIDNEY WOOOOOOOOORL or wherever
... well, as long as the kids are happy, right...? You may not be happy (or maybe you are), but it's mainly about ~family bonding~.

07] romantic retreat
It's you and your loved one's anniversary, and you decide it's time to take some time off and take them somewhere nice, where you only have each other.

08] comfort
Is somebody sick in bed? Or perhaps they just had a bad day? Sometimes, a good breakfast in bed or a home-cooked meal can really lift the spirits! Or perhaps you want to try medicine, or laughter, or something else?

09] pet
Suddenly, you have another addition to the family! Is it a puppy? A kitty? A fierce dragon? Whatever it is, make sure to give it a name and to take good care of it!

10] holiday
Happy birthday/New Years/Christmas/Valentine's Day/whatever! It's a very special day that only comes once a year, so make it count!

11] argument
Oh, no, who left the stove on... Or maybe it's about why they were out late last night? Either way, there is a lot of tension today, and one of you may or may not be sleeping on the couch tonight.

12] making up
It's time to make amends for that fight/divorce/whatever you had before! After all, you love each other... right?

13] surprise, surprise
You are feeling rather loving tonight, so you want to remind the other person how much you cherish and appreciate them... if it's by something cute and adorable or hot and sexy is completely up to you.

14] proposal
~~SHUT UP THIS TOTALLY FITS~~ You've been with your other for what feels like forever, and finally you want to tie the knot with them. Will you go down on one knee before them, or get a little creative?

15] other
I know I'm forgetting like a bajillion and one different things here, so this is the option for that!

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Things were alright, that much was made clear as she kissed his hand and he softly flexed fingers, fighting the urge to grin stupidly. Maybe actually telling the truth would work, maybe he especially didn't need to hide everything he felt away because he didn't think she'd want to hear it. Maybe.

The rest of the drive was nothing special, Clint resisted the urge to stop on a couple of lay bys and instead made himself busy by resting his hand on her leg when he wasn't switching between gears.

Back at the tower was a different matter although Clint was inclined to just say screw it and make his feelings very clear, as long as Fury didn't get involved they were home free. Right? Maybe not.

Still he carried the bags like the gentleman he was, it was only in the comfort of the elevator that he made mention to their less than platonic relationship.

"So what's the plan? Do you feel like having dinner a little later, or do you want to just crack on and get it all done, so y'know, you can have me to yourself?" He was grinning, leaning into her to bump shoulders.

They chatted a little on the drive home, but most of the time was spent in comfortable silence filled with quick looks, soft smiles and lingering touches. Natasha noted the lay bys they passed and determined that Clint’s urgency must have passed, though she knew it wouldn’t take much to get him worked up again if she wanted to. It was tempting, but she behaved the rest of the drive.

Back at the tower she rolled her eyes a little when Clint insisted on carrying all the groceries but didn’t protest, contenting herself with just pushing all the buttons to get them where they needed to go. Still, she grinned over at him when he bumped against her shoulder.

“I was thinking the latter. Besides, everyone knows I’m cooking tonight, so if we keep them waiting too long they are likely to get hungry and come looking for us.” Or they could just stop the elevator and go at it right then and there, but Tony was sure to be alerted to the ‘malfunction’ before they could even set the groceries aside. No, it was best to wait until later when they could just be alone and not worry about any interruptions.

Did it hurt to realise he was the last one to fully understand she'd planned to cook? Yes and no, partly because he was trying to work out if he'd heard her mention it before they got to the grocery store. He didn't think she had but even then his face remained neutral. Clint wasn't one for starting drama for silly reasons. Life was too short.

"Good plan" He nodded and headed into the shared dining floor as soon as the elevator doors opened. Placing the bags on the side he started pulling items from them, carefully arranging them into an order that suited him. Plans, plans where his life.

"Okay so where do we begin apart from at the top?" He asked, cocking his head to look in her direction, deciding it was probably time to shed himself of his sunglasses considering they were indoors and he really had no need for them.

Natasha hadn’t thought of mentioning the plan to Clint, as her focus for him had been more along the lines of getting him out of the tower for their grocery trip, not to mention all that they would get up to tonight once they were alone again. Of course the inevitability of tomorrow had been weighing heavily upon her, so much so that she was starting to worry about how deep she had gotten herself, how deep he had gotten under her skin. She never liked leaving him to go on these solo missions, but this time... this time was so much worse.

Following him out of the elevator and to the kitchen, she expertly kept all signs of her inner struggle hidden. From the back pocket of her jeans she pulled out several sheets of folded paper. Unfolding them, she smoothed them out on the island. She would take advantage of Tony’s technology to skip the long chilling process on the vegetable dish, but when it came to recipes themselves she preferred to have a paper copy.

“First we need to pierce the eggplant and put it in the oven, then we can get the rest ready while it bakes,” she read off, leaving the papers on the table and crossing over to turn the oven on.

((recipes! http://www.ruscuisine.com/recipes/vegetable-dishes/n--16/ and http://www.ruscuisine.com/recipes/meat-dishes/n--143/ ))

He smirked as she retrieved the papers, heading over to see exactly what they were preparing and what needed doing. Resourceful, pushy, whatever, he still classed it as helping even if he started becoming a hinderance.

He did get distracted as he watched her by the oven, but hey, that was to be expected right? Probably. Aware of the cameras and Jarvis he wondered if he actually cared. No was the answer, no he didn't care and to hell with anyone who did.

He did move, placing himself just behind her, hands carefully finding her hips with an innocent smile. "I'll let you work on the vegetable dish, I don't trust you with chicken."

Low blow, possibly, he made sure to apologise with a quick kiss to the side of her neck, moving away just as quickly as he'd appeared to seperate the items better, after all now he had that well needed plan to follow.

"Can't have you giving us all food poisoning, not a good way to spend the evening."

Locating a fork, Natasha was just going about piercing the eggplant when she suddenly felt Clint’s hands on her hips from behind. It took her by surprise, normally they kept the status of their relationship pretty tight lipped, keeping all but the most innocent, friendly touches behind closed doors. Taken off guard, she didn’t respond to his jibe as quickly as she normally would, and by the time it registered he was already kissing her and moving away before she could even think about landing an elbow into his stomach.

“I am not going to poison anyone,” she said, finally turning to face him and brandishing the fork. For a brief and rare moment she was obviously flustered. She wasn’t sure how to feel about his boldness, or what he meant by it, and the confusion put her off her game. Turning away again, she plopped the eggplants on a baking sheet and placed it in the oven. “You are just trying to get out of cutting the onions.”

Okay so maybe that was out of place, maybe he'd literally dodged a bullet, did he regret it? No. Not a chance.

He did however watch the way she was swaying the fork, just in case she came at him and tried to ram it in his eye. He needed those, both of them, to be working and functional.

He did note the way her cheeks were tinged red, but since nothing more was said and she'd stopped waving cutlery at him he managed an accomplished smile. "I'm trying to stop us all dying, but if you want me to chop the onions I will."

Fool, yep.

He did spend a moment scrubbing his hands as he went about preparing the chicken, carefully preparing it just like he'd memorised from the sheet. Cocking his head he gave her a smirk. "You know I'm only messing with you. I know your competent enough to do this alone."

Clint didn’t say anything on the subject and went about preparing food, so Natasha decided to chalk it up to a moment of temporary insanity. He didn’t want to stop hiding their relationship, he hadn’t meant anything by the little gesture; he had probably just done it to get back at her for all her teasing in the car, that was all.

Annoyingly enough she wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or a bit disappointed by this. Don’t complicate things, she silently chided herself. Their relationship was wonderful how it was, why would she want to risk screwing everything up?

“And let you take all the credit? Not a chance,” Natasha replied having gotten herself completely under control again. Locating a cutting board and a knife, she grabbed the bag of onions and opened it. Hiding a smile at his following words, she instead turned a half-hearted glare in his direction. “You’re only saying that now because I have a sharp knife and you know I know how to use it.”

Temporary insanity, maybe, although maybe this was something Clint was simply sick of hiding, for once in his life he wanted to be able to be proud of something. Having Natasha in his life was easily he most prized 'possession'. After all, she'd picked him out of hundreds of men who'd fall at her feet and worship the very ground she walked on.

Clint wasn't a worshipping kind of man, he was far, well, hands on.

"I'll make sure to tell them all how brave you were chopping the onions." He flashed her a smug grin, quickly changed his expression to one of pure innocence considering she currently had a knife in her hands and Clint didn't want to be pinned against the tiled walls.

"Did not." He pointed out quickly, reaching for the salt to start his little project.

"So," Change the subject, that's right Clint, "Have you had this before? I mean, it's good right?" He wasn't doing a very good job of this, he was pretty sure she'd make him pay for it later but he was certainly willing to kiss her until he wore her down.

Natasha rolled her eyes at his words, but she couldn’t keep the corner of her lips from twitching upwards at his ‘innocent’ expression so she quickly turned her attention back to her task. Slicing into the onion, she tried to prepare herself for the stinging in her eyes that it would inevitably cause.

“I had it many years ago, but I remember it being good,” she said, sniffing slightly as the onions started to do their damage. Not that her memories were anything to be trusted, at least not the ones she had built before Clint had found her. She had defected from the Red Room and gone rogue for a while, but even in that time she had been dealing to what was real and what wasn’t. It was only since becoming a SHIELD agent that she truly trusted her memories, even if she’d had moments of not truly knowing herself. “I have never made it myself before, though, but the recipes sound simple enough.”

Wiping her arm over her eyes, she blinked away the tears the onions were causing and continued to chop. Even the Black Widow was not completely immune to their power.

Clint kept shooting her sideways glances, waiting for the reaction because jesus he couldn't even resist onions and their mystical tear inducing power.

He smiled lightly at her sniffed, moving to wash his hands against and to prepare the rest of the dish. That was until he got sidetracked, watching her for a moment. Clint only saw her cry twice before, once when she was still healing and once after a firefight when the debris was still settling. Both times had unnerved him and even now, watching her he felt like he was intruding even though it was stupid to feel that way. Over onions. For christ sake.

"You want me to take over? I won't tell anyone.." Yeah the amusement was lost, not that it was ever there for more than a fleeting second.

"Black Widows aren't meant to cry, not over onions anyway."

Natasha shot Clint a look at his offer, her eyes glassy. “I’m not crying, my eyes are merely watering because of the fumes,” she said, turning her attention back to the onions. Unlike Clint she didn’t remember the last time she had cried. Crying was an indulgence that had not been allowed in the Red Room, and even when they had taken her childhood love from her she had not shed a tear, just silently raged. Alexei, though... her husband she had cried for, or perhaps it had been for herself being made a widow at seventeen. Since then there had been a few moments, as her memories had come back, when everything had been too much, but she tried to keep them private, determined to show no weakness to the outside world.

“You are supposed to be taking care of the chicken so it doesn’t get poisoned, remember?” Okay, so maybe it wasn’t just about showing no weakness; there was a healthy dose of stubbornness in there as well.

"Okay, well you can't say I didn't offer." He shrugged, took it in his stride and continued with his own task until the majority of it was prepped and ready for the oven, causing him to turn his attention to the baking supplies they'd picked up.

"I won't tell anyone that your eyes watered from the onion fumes." If she was to look over she'd catch his smirk as he went about reading the information on the back of packets, grabbing baking pans from cupboards and pondering what to make, not that there was much choice. Maybe just an old fashioned sponge cake with too much sticky sweet filling... there was sprinkles but maybe that was a touch too far.

"I'm not going for fancy, I doubt anyone will care much for the finesse."

While Clint prepared the main dish, Natasha finished the onions before mincing the garlic and peeling and chopping the tomatoes. Once they were ready she set it all aside to wait for the eggplant to finish baking. She took a little extra time washing her hands, not liking the way the tomatoes had stained them red; she had seen far too much red on her hands, but she pushed the thoughts away, unwilling to dwell on them, not tonight.

“Gee, thanks,” she said, looking over at Clint again as she dried her hands. “I would hate for them to think less of me for such a small slight.”

Hanging the towel over the oven handle, she grabbed a pair of oven mitts and opened the door, leaning in to turn the eggplants. They weren’t ready yet but they weren’t quite as firm as they had been when she’d first put them in. Shouldn’t take much longer to soften them up.

“I’m sure they will just be impressed we made anything at all,” she replied, straightening up again as she closed the door. “Though I suspect Tony will regard the entire thing with suspicion. He may expect to be poisoned.”

He laughed, shaking his head, opening the packets and reaching for the scales, he'd freelance it, but last time it wasn't quite as nice as doing it properly, and considering Natasha was making an effort Clint felt inclined to also make the effort.

"Maybe I'll actually tell them you made the whole thing, that way Tony won't have doubts about.." Yeah he veered off, reminding himself that Loki had been no joke, reminding himself that people were over it, so why it was still haunting the back of his mind he wasn't sure. Maybe it was the lack of sleep and those god damn nightmares. Whatever, nothing a bottle of wine, copious amounts of good food and promised quiet time with natasha wouldn't fix.

"Tony has two choices, he either eats it or he doesn't." He shrugged, reaching for the corkscrew only to pop open a bottle of the wine. "Grab some glasses, we need to toast the eggplants."

Just a little blip, nothing serious see? He was smiling, surrounding by baking products and the promise of food, nothing to see here folks, nothing at all. Just Clint being Clint.

When he trailed off Natasha was left momentarily confused. If anything she had been about to suggest the same thing only reversed, that they should say Clint had cooked it all as Tony was likely to be suspicious of anything she cooked. It clicked in a second later, though, and her expression went neutral to hide any emotional reaction she might have had. She knew Clint still had nightmares, she had been woken many a night when he had bolted upright in bed, sweat drenched with his heart hammering, but they didn’t really talk about how he felt about the whole thing. Did he really think the others mistrusted him because of what had happened?

Taking off the oven mitts she set them beside the stove and moved to get some glasses down from one of the upper cabinets. One of the bottles of wine was for them for later but there was still plenty for now and for dinner. Besides, even if they ran out she knew where Tony kept some stashed.

“I’m sure his stomach will eventually win out, I swear that man will eat anything,” she said, holding the glassed out to him. She didn’t speak on the subject he was clearly avoiding, but if he was looking for it there was a hint in her eyes, in how she looked at him, that offered him an ear should he want it. She wouldn’t push him, though, that wasn’t how they worked.

Just a slip, nothing more, but it still took a moment of him leaning heavily against the counter as he pushed it all away. He needed to deal with this better, needed to push it so far away that he forgot but it was hard. It was hard to forget what he was told, what happened. His mind racing to fill in the blanks of what actually happened. He still believed he was ultimately to blame, even though he knew somewhere it wasn't true.

Clint took the glasses carefully, setting them on the side and pouring them each a good measure of wine, holding her glass out. "To the eggplants, on their journey."

He drank, screw the toast, it was almost lip service. Draining the glass as he caught her look, and he understood everything in her gaze.

He didn't take the hint, that was for a different time and a different place although the glass of wine gave him the courage (not to mention the moment and her expression) to move slowly towards her. Screw everyone right? Clint was past caring as he lent slowly to kiss her. Surely Tony had better things to do than moniter the cameras and recorded feeds and even if he didn't Clint was honestly past caring.

"Thanks." That was it, that's all he offered other than the kiss, she'd get it because Natasha always got it. All his subtle hints, everything he did she understood because, well, he guessed it was because she was just amazing, but Clint would say that. Too far gone.

"I'm alright." He'd keep telling himself that until he believed it.

Natasha watched him closely as he went through the motions, taking the glass of wine when he offered it and only having a small sip as he downed the entire contents of his. Lowering her glass she held his gaze, her own widening so slightly it was almost imperceptible as he closed the distance between them. They had an understanding, they were to keep their relationship hidden from anyone who knew them, but something had clearly changed in Clint’s mind. She had been able to pass it off earlier as a little payback, but this was different.

She could have moved away, he gave her plenty of time to do so, but she was rooted in place by the look she had seen in his eyes, by the memories she knew were lurking just below the surface. So she let him kiss her if that was what he needed, and the desire to throw all the secrecy aside and see what happened rose up full force. Still, when he pulled back she merely nodded and said “any time,” which she meant whole heartedly. Any time he needed her, she didn’t care how, she would do everything in her power to be there.

Backing away to put distance between them, she took another sip of wine. She had heard those words before and knew it was a total lie, but she didn’t completely call him on it, nor did she accept it. “I know you will be,” she said instead. He wasn’t alright, she knew that, but she had been through something similar to what he had suffered and she knew he would be alright with time, just like she had been.

His face turned into the perfect smile, everything else pushed aside. For one she hadn't pushed him away, for two it was dawning on him that he's just kissed her in a common area. One they shared. That he'd made a step towards something they just didn't do, and that honestly? He couldn't help the way his stomach twisted and his mind raced.

"You wanna help me bake?" he asked, refilling his glass, intent on making this one last. It was good wine, then again since she'd chosen it he had no doubts. "This is a team effort right?"

Yeah Clint, any old excuse to just touch her and stand next to her and pretend that you were okay and that everything was normal.

Clint watched her, that smile faltering. She didn't believe him and she had every right to not believe him. The amount of times he'd woken her up, the amount of times he'd told her through micro expressions that he was not okay, he understood why she didn't believe him. But he didn't want to be broken, and he was trying, really trying and Natasha was the catalyst.

"Sorry, by the way" An apology about the kiss, maybe it was too much too soon, maybe he needed to re-evaluate what he was doing and start caring. Maybe she didn't want it. Too many questions and he was too scared to ask her, scared of the outcome, scared of what she'd say. Terrified he'd lose her.

He busied himself, setting his wine down, moving to the over to check on the eggplant again, anything to not look at her.

His stomach wasn’t the only one that twisted when she saw that perfect smile. It was relaxed, carefree, and happy, three of her favourite things when it came to him. “Of course. You did make the chicken, after all,” she said, smiling back at him, but she had already pulled away, already proved she didn’t believe him, already done the damage, and she watched his smile fade. It was like a punch in the gut, knowing that as quickly as she could cause that smile she could just as quickly take it away.

The apology she didn’t expect, though. While he did all he could to avoid looking at her for the next few minutes, Natasha followed his every movement with her eyes. He wasn’t the only one who was scared. The Black Widow wasn’t afraid of much. She threw herself into fights with no hesitation, gunfights were mere sport, but when it came to feelings and emotions... those were things she didn’t understand, things that she hadn’t let herself experience for so many years. Now, with Clint, she had been unable to avoid them. She had tried, but he had worked his way under her skin and into her heart; he had torn down all her walls and all her defenses, and when she had almost lost him to Loki she had realised just how far gone she truly was. The depth of her feelings for him were terrifying, and the idea of taking that next step, of openly acknowledging what they had... she didn’t know what to feel about that other than scared.

“It’s fine,” she said, not knowing what else to say. “The eggplant is probably ready to cool down.”

He did avoid looking at her. Didn't want to see that look in her eyes. He understood, in a second hand way, he understood as much as he could for a man who hadn't been fully let into her world yet he was there, willing to accept her and her flaws. People would call him stupid, her mates didn't tend to survive, Clint was an oppertunist though.

He nodded, he'd made things awkward and it hung in the air around them like a bad smell, although that could be the onions. He turned, carefully weighing out ingrediants, ignoring her prescence for the moment. He needed to sort it out, decide whether he she would be comfortable with people knowing about them. He was comfortable, staking his claim so to speak, if she let him.

He frowned at the flour, frowned at the sugar, poured a little too much in, too busy cocking a head over his shoulder to watch her. "You wanna throw the chicken in? I mean, main courses come first right?" It was too awkward, he hated it but he wasn't sure how to fix what he'd just done, he'd apologised, if she hadn't have wanted it he was sure her words would have held a sterner tone.

His hands reached for the icing, reading it over, opening the tub and carefully scraping a bit on his finger, tasting it. Yeah, rich, too sweet and very sickly, he held out the tub like a peace offering. "Try this, see what you think."

Taking the pan from the oven Natasha set it on top of the stove. Still wearing the oven mitts she moved the eggplants into the freezer for a few minutes to get them to cool down quickly. Once that was finished she risked a glance at Clint, noting his frown, and felt her stomach sink. It wasn’t supposed to be like this with them; usually they could spend hours in absolute silence and be completely comfortable, but this silence was awkward and heavy and she hated it.

As terrified as she was of her feelings for him, as afraid as she was of their relationship changing and just what their going public could mean, she was more scared of losing him. Losing him in any capacity was her greatest fear.

“Yes, right,” she broke out of her thoughts at the sound of his voice. Turning back to the oven she adjusted the temperature and placed the chicken in. She had to say something, had to do some damage control, but how could she make this better? Just throw all her fears and worries away and throw herself at him right here in the kitchen?

Turning quickly back to him when he spoke again, she looked at the tub of icing he held out before sticking her finger in and scraping out. Looking up at him she offered a tentative smile before placing her finger between her lips and sucking the frosting off. It was more than a little too sweet and would negate the need for whipped cream, not that she expected any of that to actually be used for the desert, or she hadn’t. She wasn’t so sure what the night would hold at this point.

“Sweet enough to make even Thor sick,” she said. “It’s perfect.”

This was a sticking point and Clint was bothered by his own feelings. This wasn't them, being secretive was easier, keeping everything low and private, but there was only so much he could take. He couldn't just walk away from his job so he tried to be 'normal' in other aspects, and this certainly wasn't paying off in his favour.

However he watched her suck on her own finger and was certain the temperature in the kitchen just went up ten notches. Bad idea on his part. He swallowed, eyes dilating, the need to close the gap was overwhelming but he simply stayed put, letting the ghost of a smile play on his lips. "Making Thor sick would be a little triumph." They'd be okay. Clint would follow her to the edges of the world, if she didn't want anything more then what they had then he'd accomodate, even if it meant him missing out on what he really wanted. It was love, plain and simple, he just couldn't tell her that, didn't want to put everything they had on the line. And he really didn't want to loose her.

"I really am sorry, I just thought.." No, he needed to stop, breath, consider what he was saying and rethink this plan for a better time. Awkwardly orbitting her like he always did.

Natasha noted Clint’s reaction and while it was always satisfying she felt now probably wasn’t the best time to get him worked up. At least it seemed like the awkwardness had finally passed.

“Yes, but only if it is because the dessert is too sweet. I don’t want anyone getting sick off the dinner itself,” she said, lowering her hand and turning to retrieve her wine. Taking another sip, she paused with the glass still at her lips when he apologised again. Apparently the awkwardness had not passed.

Part of her wanted to ask just what he had thought, wanted to know what he wanted, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to know. “Not tonight,” she said quietly, lowering the glass. “Let’s not talk about it now.”

"Nobody will get sick, the dinner will be fine." Why did he sound so distant? Oh right because of this point they'd somehow got to because of him putting his foot in everything as usual.

He got the message, loud and clear as she completely blew him off and he nodded, squared his shoulders and turned to look away from her. He couldn't do it, he wanted to tell her everything, wanted to tell her what she meant to him, how much he loved her, how much he wanted her all the time like an addiction he couldn't cure himself of.

"Okay." That hurt, that one simple word showed how submissive he really was but he was determined to play it off, he even faked a smile as he cocked his head over his shoulder.

Clint was not good at playing subtle in situations like these, no. But he tried, he busied his hands with preparing the cake mix, he made sure to keep himself to himself and to sip his wine slowly in between measuring mix and carefully mixing it together. It was fine, he'd get over it, he always did even if this time felt different.

"The wine's good." Idle small talk never suited him.

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